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I chose to be a bitch.

I went all well.

guess it's in everyone's nature, I do not go While being a bitch. I think I get what it is exactly the opposite.

not scold me out people, not make them see reason, I think the only thing that goes wrong is to say: If you want, do it. If you do not want, do not.

That would sum it all, but the truth is that neither do well. First I talk and talk about what I'm convinced that Woody Allen movies are good, they give money to Greenpeace makes someone who is interested in doing something for the environment ... Because I have no time to save seals ... But I have 100 pesos per month to pay someone who loves to engage in that ...

I am convinced that climate change is because of our way to throw trash and make fun of the world. I think the erotic books are written by people who think the most sensual in the world. I do not believe in marriage as a sacred matter, much less religious. I stopped believing in the church quite recently ...

And a long list of etceteras.

But I think my friend is right Lola:

"When you talk, your great speach, well sure that people understand (because they usually do not) that all a matter of choice "

so you can choose to believe me, hate me, ignore me, fight me, do or not.

If they do not understand, some, the end of" speech "that's not my problem.

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Someone who relies on you and say: The life you smile when you smile but if you drink it, you have to put chocolate chips worth a story, the problem is that my pen seems to have no ink. I live in an era of scarce, unfortunately.
Then, in the midst of a horrible class, I can only reply with a promise:

A written words, not with the wind, perpetuate forever ... unless they are deleted. Not enough to say, together we recover the desire to write letters to perpetuate a story, not to wish that this becomes true, you have to write with facts not to desire, as with journalists. The promise is to live to write.


Hopefully this will also help, as much as me ...

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phrase definition of a leaf, the tree of ocher.

I'm very good for writing.

Well, they say.

ago I was born and twenty-eight and the best I can be assumed, in my long list of broken hearts I have now is a small, little late, but for me, a bit much. It is not enough not confused.

'm like a leaf You know? Of those that fall in autumn after a process of "maturation" and is carried away by the wind to your destination. Gently and slowly guided, for better or for worse.

No one understands the reasons, just that we, in attempting to understand, believe so. There is no reason for that. Things that exist have a reason and a parallel coexistence. Depends on each one the number of ways, I like both.

Close your eyes is the beginning.

Writing is the beginning.

finally convinced

that has begun is to be on the road.

Welcome. For the umpteenth time.

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Love?, Are you there? Things

I have just dropped a lock of hair.

I can not stop thinking that I have so much work that nobody helps me, as the bureaucracy in Mexico is jammed, when thousands of public servants, like me, suffering on millions of old-school bureaucrats who are is far from retirement, who can not run because they are the union, those who can not even touch because they are political favors ...

I'm thinking it's Friday, are 7:16 pm, which it's dark, forcing my brain to make another trade to beg them to give me information ... All for enforcing the law, as supposedly they should be.

I'm thinking it's cold, my heart is beating every fifteen days to give you a taste. That I do not think so often in love and the illusions that it causes. Every day I read less and distressed me more.

'm as sad and strange.

I just think to buy a camera for those of professional photographer and go with my savings to travel the country. A live answering phones, for example, who cares? Who gives a professional license if you're caught between 9 and 9 minimum, in the office without being able to live?

'm as angry about becoming a piece of nerves and I stopped writing ... If what they say? "Poser" for fear that people would read: "poser" because I loved to go to cafes and fountain pen to write some stories ... Poser ....

I see my calendar filled with meetings, with meetings, training and love that lies behind three or four hours in bed and not wake up even though I at seven in the morning and taking classes ...

Where are you love? Or do you well hidden went on vacation? Where are you

to photograph you with letters? That was what I was up to me ... Do not write in twitter, not on facebook, I played my fill this space of pure love, pure point of pure self.

Saturday and I will go to the concert of Camilla.

I sing this song , like love, I moved back ... As if the world was over at the time in which he was belting out ... And that something is moving back there.

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I think the following words came from a story that will never write one, because there is always unfinished. Always the same this character trying to escape fantasy, always without success. Strange